


Step Right Up

by Volant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Tumblr Prompt, complete and utter cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volant/pseuds/Volant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Brienne lets Jaime know how she feels in public. Based on a Tumblr prompt for JB Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Right Up

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following anonymous prompt from Tumblr:JB Week fun! In Mod AUs, Jaime is usually the more openly affectionate one. Imagine a scenario where Brienne is the one who publicly displays physical affection for Jaime. Please share your ideas. Thank you.

They’re sitting in the lunchroom the first time it happens. Sansa, Pod, and Margaery are talking loudly about some new movie that’s coming out next week. Jaime is watching Brienne stuff a textbook into her bag.

            “Totally forgot,” she mutters as she yanks on the zipper. “I’m meeting with Coach Goodwin about my times. In two minutes.”

            “You’ll make it,” Jaime says. “Your legs are long enough. It’ll take you about two seconds to make it up those stairs.”

            “Right,” she says, and rolls her eyes—her blue, blue eyes. “Whatever. Love you.”

            And then she kisses him. Not on the lips or anything, thank the gods—Jaime’s not sure how he would have handled _that_ —just presses her chapped lips to his temple as she stands and slings her bag over her shoulder. Jaime can tell when she realizes what she’s just done—she gasps, and freezes for a split second before she takes off, running, out of the cafeteria.

            “Holy shit,” Margaery whispers as Brienne disappears around a corner. “Holy shit. Sansa. Did you see that?”

           

            They don’t talk about it afterward. Jaime’s certain that it was a one-off thing—like calling your teacher “mom.” Because there’s no way that Brienne Tarth—ridiculous, romantic, carries-the-entire-swim-team-on-her-nicely-sculpted-shoulders Tarth—would ever have a crush on him. Jaime’s come to accept that, over the months (and months, and months) that he’s carried a torch for her, blue eyes and straw hair and all.

            “She’s just too good,” Jaime tells himself—and Tyrion—one afternoon. “She doesn’t even swear.”

            “Sounds like a personal problem,” his brother said. “Why don’t you just take her to dinner?”

            That didn’t help at all, either. In fact, it was Tyrion’s voice echoing in Jaime’s head when he finally got up the courage to ask Brienne if she’d go with him to the Homecoming football game.

            The first quarter goes pretty well. Jaime actually manages to _not_ stare at Brienne when she cheers every time the Lions make a touchdown. They yell. They high-five. They laugh themselves breathless when Hyle Hunt screws up and gets benched.

            The second quarter is more of the same, and culminates with Brienne buying them both cokes and hot dogs to eat during halftime. But the show’s a bust—the Lionettes aren’t exactly what you’d call “on point”—so eating turns into talking, which results in Brienne twisting in her seat to face Jaime, so that their knees are knocking together. It’s only when the buzzer sounds to indicate the end of the halftime session that Jaime realizes Brienne’s somehow got her arm around the back of his seat, so that her hand rests lightly on his arm.

            She takes her arm back at the next touchdown, but by then they’re both standing, and Jaime’s almost sure that there’s no excuse for the way her hand keeps brushing up against his.

            He drives her home and almost isn’t surprised when she reaches across the dashboard and gives his good hand a squeeze over the steering wheel before she slams the door and runs up the steps to her front door.

 

            The third time, Jaime’s prepared. Brienne’s convinced Jaime to go with her (and Pod, and Sansa, and Margaery) to the Fall Festival, this city-wide event complete with a parade and free food. Jaime brushes his teeth. He puts on a clean shirt. He shaves.

            They meet up next to the Dothraki Club’s tent. Pod, and Sansa, and Margaery are there, standing in a cluster next to Brienne, who looks like a giant next to them. It looks like Margaery got to her, because she’s wearing tight black leggings, and some shimmery blue top that make her eyes look different.

            “Please tell me she tried to put you in a dress,” Jaime laughs when he finally wades through the crowd to stand next to her.

            “A short one, too,” Brienne confirms, and nods solemnly.

            “You know you liked it,” Margaery shakes her head and pokes at her friend. “Come on, they’ve got a ring toss!”

            After that, it’s a blur of weird games and oversized stuffed-animal prizes. Jaime discovers that he isn’t too good at darts, or Pumpkin Bowling, or Giant Jenga. There’s a reason he sticks to playing basketball.

            “Hey,” Sansa says after she wins a fish and Jaime’s on second loss at the ping-pong tossing game. “Jaime’s the only one that doesn’t have a prize.”

            “Aw,” Margaery coos. “Poor baby.”

            “Be nice,” Brienne says. “Look, we’re almost to the High Striker.” Which, Jaime discovers is what those things where people use hammers to hit a weight and set off a bell are called.

            “I bet I can beat you,” Brienne says to Jaime.

            “I bet you _can’t_.”

            Jaime almost hits the bell. He comes _this_ close, he really does. But when Brienne takes her turn—when she squares up like a boxer, and swings that rubber hammer—it rings loud and clear. The guy in charge of it stares at her as he hands her a prize—a big blue bear that perfectly matches the red one she’d received two games earlier.

            She thanks him, and then walks through the line to where Jaime’s waiting. Sansa, Pod, and Margaery had wandered off to a Dornish corn on the cob cart.

            “That’s a nice prize,” Jaime says. Brienne nods and glances down at it before she holds it out to him.

            “For you,” she says. “Because you suck at playing games.”

            “Wow,” Jaime says. “I can’t decide if I should say thank you, or if I should be offended.”

            But Brienne’s doing that shifty thing she does where she blushes, and won’t look Jaime in the eye, so he steps forward and snatches it out of her hands, tucking it under one arm.

            “Fine,” he says, and looks up at her. “But only because it matches your eyes.”

            He almost cheers when she reaches out and grabs a fistful of his t-shirt, because he’s been waiting for this day since about a week after they met. He has had whole fantasies about kissing Brienne: about standing on his toes to reach her lips, about wrapping an arm around her thick waist to pull her closer, about tasting her mouth and feeling her give way to him.

            In reality, it is nothing like that. Brienne’s lips are chapped, and her skin tastes like salt and popcorn. He knows she’s never kissed anyone before, and he can tell because she doesn’t do anything besides smash her mouth against his and pull away so quickly that he’s left reeling.

            “I’m sorry,” she blurts out. She’s the reddest that Jaime’s ever seen her, and he thinks that he likes reality just fine.

            “We’re doing that again,” he says, quickly, before she can run away or apologize again.

            “Huh?” Brienne’s eyes open wide. “Y-you…”

            “Brienne,” Jaime says, quashing the blue bear beneath one arm so that he can reach up with the other and touch her cheek, “I’m going to kiss you again. And then we’re going out to dinner.”

            Brienne smiles—one of those hesitating, half-grins.

            “Okay.”

           

 


End file.
